Shining armor

It had started out as a simple cold.

She had plenty of experience with it, and while such an affliction usually left her reeling from merciless migraines that were more akin to someone dancing on her head, she usually managed decently through the few days of suffering. Judicious use of naps helped tremendously, her quaint little home on Manta Carlos quickly being filled with blankets of various sizes and patterns; she'd even gone through the trouble to hunt for the best window spot to nap in the sun's warm rays.

This, however...

Currently sleeping on her bed, Anthea’s dainty features scrunched up into a troubled frown, remaining there longer than it would have were she awake. She tossed and turned, a horrified, if muffled, groan falling from her lips as her dreams- nightmares- repeated the massacre that had wiped out her family. She’d been well-hidden at the time, but the sounds of fighting were not so easily blocked out. Spellfire that rocked the foundations of the manor echoed ominously, joined in a cacophony of pain and loss by the screams of her siblings as they were crushed by falling debris or felled directly by the intruders. Anthea’s time spent isolated in the manor worked in her favor, as few even knew of her existence; once her father, brothers, and sister were killed, the mages moved on without hesitation, moving to Ireland where the rest of Anthea’s extended family resided in their ancestral mansions and homes.

Waking with a sharp gasp, Anthea bolted up into a sitting position from the bed, blinking back tears that were clouding her vision. She also fought back the wave of dizziness that followed her quick position change, the three blankets she'd been huddled under sliding to pool around her waist as she sat up and eliciting a shiver from the small girl. It didn't matter that she was all but swimming in the large, fluffy sweater she'd changed into after dragging herself up for a quick- as hot as she could make it- shower, or even that there was a merrily crackling fire in the fire place across from her bed; the cold that always seemed to plague her sunk into her slightly brittle bones just as easily as usual.

After absentmindedly wiping at her cheeks- and not at all erasing the remnants of tears in her large eyes-, she shot a twitch of a pouting moue to the doorway that connected her room to the hallway before her expression returned to her usual serene resting face. She'd taken to buying what foodstuffs she could in bulk, as it always became inevitable that she'd be bedridden for days at a time and therefore unable to go food shopping very often, but what use was such precautions when the kitchen was so far away from her bedroom? At least, it felt miles away to Anthea, who, at the moment, was a bit light headed from dehydration, still rather sleepy, and felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

A short glance to one of the nightstands told her that she'd already burned through the water bottle she'd left there. It made the trek to the kitchen all the more important, but not any more appealing than it had been just before. Flopping back onto the mountain of pillows at her back with a sigh, she began debating whether she had the resolve to venture out of her bedroom when the decision was quickly made for her- a firm knock on the front door resounded through the house's one and only floor, an equally no-nonsense voice swiftly following after. The voice had proclaimed the visitor to be from the police department, which was the only reason Anthea didn't ignore it outright and burrow back into the inviting warmth of her bed.

Pausing for a handful of minutes to gather her strength, she allowed herself to slide off the bed. Her fluffy sock-clad feet settled silently on the cheerfully patterned area rug she'd picked out for her room days after purchasing the house, taking a moment to wrap two of the spare blankets she kept on the nightstand around her trembling form. Both were a gentle cream color, though one had a pink trim that matched her rose-colored hair while the other was edged in warm orange.

Hesitating one last time to glance around her room, Anthea began a tentative shuffle out into the hallway and to the kitchen, pausing once or twice to let the shock of dizziness pass. Absently, she took stock of the various ceramic figurines divvied out through the rooms of the house that she passed. There had already been at least seven in her room, though only one of them was animate- she'd 'given life' to one of the larger ones with cheerful green coloring specifically to cuddle and comfort her while she was stuck in bed. The hallway was spared of them, but the living room and dining room, as well as the kitchen, weren't so lucky. Some were artfully placed on wall-mounted shelves, while others were tucked away randomly throughout the rooms. From her vantage point as she continued her quiet shuffle down the hall, blanket edges trailing after her, she glimpsed a bit of movement in the living room- one of her other animated dragons was carefully pruning the flowering plant she'd managed to snag for the coffee table.

It was in a slightly harried state that Anthea tried to rush to the door, swaddled in two blankets and looking rather like a babushka- part of the blankets were settled on top of her unruly but endearingly bedhead arrangement of rosy hair. They practically swallowed her thin frame, the drawn weariness and open fatigue spelling out her delicate state just as surely as if it were written out in marker across her cheeks. Even the tears she'd completely forgot about in her race to answer the door were still peeking out from the corner of her rosy-red doe eyes. It wasn't quite the image she wished to present, but she didn't think it was wise to delay the police.

Of course, with her slow pace and frequent stops for rest, it was completely understandable if the police officer outside her front door grew restless with the wait. Anthea was trying, truly, she was, but she couldn't even call out to tell the police officer that she was on her way- she couldn't even remember the last time she'd raised her voice, and it was probably hoarse from disuse anyway.

Why speak, after all, when there was no one to listen?​